


31 Hours

by FifthBeatleYoko (BrynnBrynnStar)



Series: From the Blog of itsoldjohn [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: AU, Angst, Multi, No Yoko Hate, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynnBrynnStar/pseuds/FifthBeatleYoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early hours of the fifth of April 1984, Paul McCartney finally received a long-expected phone call from New York City, suspecting it to be from his dear friend John after his calls had become far less frequent over the last couple of years, but instead, answering to his rather distraught wife.<br/>[ Rated M for strong emotional distress. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	31 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> After getting a number of likes on a thread I've been doing on Tumblr, I've decided to edit bits and pieces and paste all the thread replies together to make it a full-fledged fic.  
> There's an extreme lack of strong, emotional, platonic McLennon fics. (And, you know, the fact that these people think that sexuality comes in three flavours– Hetero, Homo, and Bi. But I'll save that for another day.)  
> Anyways, here you go.

  **It was still pouring** when Paul had gotten off of the plane in New York. The same storm that had been storming as **it** had happened— with Yoko calling Paul immediately, as soon as possible, collecting herself quickly in order to do so. It was a normal morning for Paul until he heard that call. She notified him of the  **thing**  that had happened– and Paul just didn't know what to do. He couldn’t just answer her at first, it was the only thing he didn’t expect from him. Almost the only thing. That was when he had decided to fly out immediately. He couldn't believe it, it was happening all over again, not even four years after the incident when John had been in that coma, he was in another one of these situations.

     The circumstances had been entirely different, though.

     His heart had thumped as he stood in front of the door. He'd been there, int he exact place Yoko said he'd be, but it had made Paul uneasy that she wasn't there like the last time. _God, the last time,_ he thought. At least she wasn't sitting distraught for hours on end in the incredible state of shock. At least Paul didn't have to experience that again. After a few minutes of hesitation, Paul had decided on entering through the door, the hinge giving a metal creak that could send a shiver up your spine.

      _And there he was._  

     John had lied there in the hospital bed completely motionless, as if lifeless. (Maybe half-lifeless.) He had hazily awoken from another one of the few dozen dozes he had taken, as if his mind were unable to decide on being conscious or unconscious; and as Paul had come into the room, he just didn't notice him. His eyes had opened to the view of the water pelting up against the window, giving a bleak grimace to the state of the weather outside.   
     _"Still fucking raining,"_  he muttered softly to himself, tilting his head away as he rubbed his eyes harshly with the heel of his hand, the IV being dragged along; and that was when his gaze had caught with Paul, sunglasses still in hand as he had just taken them off, their equally bloodshot eyes locking, John giving a bit of a sigh of defeat. He’d been caught.

     Paul felt his heartbeat raise again. He wanted to talk, but he couldn’t– and that was when their gazes met. He wanted to open his mouth, say something,  _anything,_  but he  _couldn’t._  Again, he was frozen, and all he could do was stare at John, just like you would look at a deer, trying not to frighten the poor thing.

     I guess that meant John was this _deer–_ looking more like he was caught in headlights, rather than in some field or somewhere else in the wild. He had swallowed awfully hard, getting back into his previous position as his look had softened when he turned back to the window again. _"…It’s been coming down this hard for over twenty-four hours straight, now."_   John said, as if to thwart their impending conversation away from the situation; but John heard no lighthearted reply, and another glance over at Paul’s irritated eyes and dry tear-streaked face had just broken him, filling himself with unmeasurable guilt.

     He had blinked at the window uncomfortably, “She told you, I assume.” John had absently picked at the scabbed edge by the nail of his thumb– which was the state of all of his fingers, actually. (His right thumb being the worst, though.) He only had the energy in order to tremble slightly. Not too noticeable, but as he picked at his thumb, his hand trembled in the way as it turned slightly, as if he were jimmying keys at a sticky locked door.

      _"…I’m sorry, Paul."_

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please go follow tumblr blogs itsoldjohn and guesswhoitspaul for more like this. (Although, actual honest-to-god serious threads like this are a rarity to my Old!John blog. But still.)


End file.
